Powerful Persuasion

‘I think there’s more to it,’ she retorted.

He frowned. ‘What ever gave you that idea?’

‘Your insistence, for one thing.’

‘And for another?’

‘Feminine intuition.’ Her tone was cool. She had herself in control now.

He smiled. ‘Ah, that.’

‘Yes, that,’ she snapped. ‘Are you denying that I am right?’

‘It’s an interesting theory. How about we go out and discuss it?’

Celena let out an impatient sigh. ‘I don’t want to go out I’ve had a hell of a day, with no thanks to you; I planned on an early night.’

He shot a glance at his watch—an expensive gold affair. Cartier probably, she decided, seeing the Roman numerals on its face. Everything about this man spelt wealth, and he seemed to think that it could get him whatever he wanted. She had no doubt that he intended to offer her an even higher salary.

‘It’s early yet—only a little after eight,’ he said. ‘Perhaps we could talk here? I promise to take up no more than an hour of your time.’

She felt a fresh surge of apprehension. ‘I never allow strangers into my house.’

Thick brows lifted. ‘I don’t think we’re entirely strangers, and I promise you, Miss Coulsden, that my intentions are strictly honourable.’ He chuckled as he said it. ‘An old-fashioned turn of phrase. Let me put it another way. I have no designs on your body, beautiful though it is. You’ll be perfectly safe.’

And Celena surprised herself by believing him. She found him dangerous in many ways, but felt instinctively that she could accept his word on this occasion. ‘Very well.’ She stepped back reluctantly. ‘Though I promise you you’ll be wasting your time; I never change my mind once it is made up.’

His lips quirked. ‘And I never accept no for an answer. An impasse, no less. It will be interesting to see who wins.’

The character of the house changed as he stepped inside. It had always had a relaxed, comfortable feeling, but the instant this man entered the whole atmosphere became charged—as it had in his office! It was going to be a difficult meeting, Celena decided.

She led him down the hallway to her sitting room at the back, which overlooked a pleasant courtyard which she had filled with tubs and containers growing a profusion of colourful plants and climbing shrubs, making the small area look almost Mediterranean.

‘Please sit down.’ She indicated a dumpy armchair that she had recovered in rust linen, but sat on the opposite side of the room herself on a straight wooden chair with her back to the French windows. It put him at a disadvantage because the low evening sunlight slanted right into his eyes.

She had reckoned without his guessing her tactics. He got up and smiled—that wolfish smile which hinted that he was in complete control. ‘You take the comfortable chair.’

He held out a hand and she had no choice, but she ignored his offer of help, pulling the curtains slightly before she sat down. But not enough. The sun still caught the chair and made her squint as she looked at him.

‘The hot spot?’ he queried. ‘Good try, Miss Coulsden, but I prefer to be the one in control.’

She said nothing, hiding her embarrassment, looking at him with her lips clamped together, her grey eyes stormy. ‘OK, make your offer.’

Their eyes met and held for several long, suspenseful seconds—seconds during which Celena’s heart catapulted once again with violent emotion.

‘I think,’ he said, his tone low and meaningful, ‘that first of all we ought to analyse your motives for refusing.’

She lifted one eyebrow. ‘Analyse? There is nothing to analyse.’

‘No?’ he asked sceptically. ‘No one except the very rich wouldn’t like to earn more money.’

Her eyes flashed. ‘And you’re one of that élite band, thinking that your money can buy anything you’ve set your heart on. Let me tell you this, Mr Segurini—I refuse to be bought Didn’t I make myself clear?’

‘Did you check on the situation with your present employers?’

She inclined her head. ‘You were right,’ she admitted grudgingly.

‘And you have a mortgage on this house?’

‘I don’t see that that is any business of yours,’ she retorted. He probably knew anyway; it was very likely one of the pieces of information stored in his computer system. Her parents’ house hadn’t fetched all that much, and property here was so much dearer, so yes, she did have a mortgage.

‘And then, of course,’ he said with a slow, knowing smile as he delivered his pièce de résistance, ‘there are your sister’s school fees. It must be quite a struggle for you, Celena.’

Celena gasped, even though she knew she ought not to be surprised, and jumped to her feet, moving so that the sun was not glaring into her eyes. ‘Get out of here, you swine. You have no right prying into—’

‘You’re even more beautiful when you’re angry,’ he cut in softly. ‘It amazes me that some man hasn’t snapped you up before now. You need the job, Celena; why don’t you take it?’

He was right—she did need it; she could not afford to turn him down a second time. But there was still defiance in her eyes. ‘Only if you triple my present salary,’ she declared, chin jutting.

A wide smile softened the harsh contours of his face; white teeth gleamed. ‘Done.’ He stood too and held out his hand and Celena was compelled to take it ‘I knew you would come to your senses. Everyone has their price.’

His grip pulverised her hand, but more shocking than that were the waves of electricity that ran through her—the chemical reaction that she had felt in his office but which was much stronger here. Please God, don’t let our paths cross too often, she prayed silently.

CHAPTER TWO

ONE month later Celena began working for Luse and for the first week and a half, much to her relief, she saw nothing of Luciano, though his name was on everyone’s lips. Luciano this, Luciano that, Luciano wants, Luciano would like, et cetera, et cetera. And Luciano got!

She was also quizzed tirelessly as to how she had got her job. No one had left; there had been no real vacancy. It was apparently a made-up job, and one that puzzled everyone else as much as Celena. A second bouquet of white roses had arrived—this time the card had simply read ‘Thank you’.

And then came the summons to the big man’s office. To her annoyance Celena felt her heart pounding long before she reached the end of the corridor which took her to his room. She paused a moment outside to regain her equilibrium and was standing there breathing deeply when the door was suddenly yanked opened.

‘What are you doing, Miss Coulsden?’ Luciano Segurini asked with considerable amusement. ‘Plucking up courage to face the lion in his den?’

He was so very near the mark that to save herself embarrassment she said, ‘Naturally. You’re held in very high esteem, Mr Segurini A call to your sanctum is not to be treated lightly. What is it—am I getting the sack, or a raise?’

His lips quirked as he motioned her inside. ‘Very few of my employees would dare to speak to me like that’

‘Really?’ She allowed a faint frown. ‘Didn’t you tell me, just after I accepted this job, that you’re one big happy family here? No distinction between the classes, so to speak? If that is the case I see no reason why I can’t say what I like.’ As he had been ready to go to any lengths to employ her she had no fear of dismissal.

‘No matter.’ He motioned her to sit down, settling himself behind his huge desk as he had on that first occasion. And now, as then, Celena felt her skin tingle, felt the enormous pull of his magnetism, and puzzled anew at her unexpected and uncharacteristic response.

‘Have you any immediate plans, Celena?’

She frowned faintly, not altogether sure that she understood.

‘I mean personal ones. Holidays, that sort of thing.’ His tone was crisp and professional and it was a relief to hear him talking like this.

‘No.’ She resisted the temptation to say she was sure that he knew anyway, that he had everything on computer down to the birthmark on her left thigh. He probably even knew what her bank balance was.

‘Good, because I want you to accompany me to Sicily.’

‘Sicily?’ she repeated in amazement.

‘Yes, my home country.’

‘And for what reason am I to accompany you?’ Alarm bells sounded once again in her head—extra loud ones this time.

‘Purely business, of course. I handle quite a lot of advertising over there.’

‘And why do you need me?’

‘Isn’t that clear?’ he asked sharply, as though she was stupid for missing the point. ‘You’re doubly qualified. It will save both time and money if you can come up with ideas on the spot.’

She eyed him guardedly. ‘And this is what you had in mind right from the offset?’

He inclined his head.

‘Why didn’t you say so?’

‘Would you have agreed to work for me, knowing I was going to whisk you off abroad?’ He tapped a pencil on his thumbnail and watched her closely.

Celena smiled faintly. ‘Maybe not. On the other hand I might have seen it as an exciting opportunity.’

‘So you are happy about accompanying me?’

She saw no point in arguing: he would undoubtedly get his own way in the end. ‘So long as it is strictly business.’

‘You have my word,’ he said.

‘How long will we be away?’

He shrugged. ‘A day or two—just long enough to tie things up.’

The flight took two and a half hours. They booked into a hotel in Palermo, and over dinner Luciano surprised her by talking about his childhood.

‘Families here are very close knit, as you probably know. My mother died when I was four and I was brought up by my maternal grandparents—with a great deal of well-intentioned interference from my great-grandmother. Although neither my father nor my grandparents are alive now, Bisnonna still is, bless her heart. She will be ninety-three this year.’

He sounded very fond of her and Celena felt envious for a moment as she had no grandparents of her own, both sets having died when she was very young, before Davina had even been born.

‘I went to England to finish my education at Oxford,’ he went on, ‘and liked your country so much that I made it my home. Naturally I still come back here several times a year; my family would never forgive me if I didn’t.’

‘You have brothers and sisters?’ she asked.

He inclined his head. ‘Two brothers and a sister: Gabriella—she is the youngest; Paolo is next, then Filippo. You will meet them tomorrow.’

Celena frowned sharply. ‘We are visiting your family?’

‘Naturally. I couldn’t possibly come to Sicily and not see them.’

‘You told me it was purely a business trip,’ she said accusingly.

His lips curved. ‘And what is wrong with combining business with pleasure? Treat the break as an added bonus, Celena.’

Some bonus, she thought. ‘Are they married, your brothers and sister?’

‘All of them.’

‘So why aren’t you?’ It was a question she ought not to have asked; it was too intrusive, considering they were employer and employee, and the sudden harshness of his face confirmed it. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said quickly. ‘Forget I said that. This is a very good bolognese.’

‘And so it should be.’ His face relaxed. ‘But wait until you taste our bolognese. It is a very special family recipe. It is meraviglioso.’

There was obviously some reason why he hadn’t married and she wondered what it was. She guessed him to be somewhere in his mid-thirties and found it strange that he was still a bachelor. He was most eligible so why had no one snapped him up? The fault had to lie with him. Maybe his work took up too much of his time. Maybe he’d had a bad experience. Maybe, maybe—there could be a thousand and one explanations.

In bed that night, in her hotel room next to Luciano’s, Celena could not rid her mind of him. He had to be the most intriguing man she had ever met—visually exciting, physically stimulating, disgustingly rich—everything a girl could wish for.

It disturbed her that Luciano had made such a strong impact, that he was infiltrating her defences so easily. After the numbing discovery that Andrew was seeing another woman behind her back she had thought herself immune to this sort of thing. This coupled with the fact that the girl had been her best friend had made her vow never to trust anyone again. She had thrown herself wholeheartedly into her career and no one since had managed to arouse any sort of feeling within her. She was even nicknamed ‘the ice-woman’ among her contemporaries.

The short flight from England in Luciano’s private jet had been an experience in itself. Not only had she been impressed that he had his own plane, and that it was fitted out to very high standards with a comfortable lounge and a fully equipped office, she had also been overwhelmed by the strength of his personality.

Each time they met the air tingled, but in the close confines of his Lear jet Celena had felt it even more strongly. She had experienced great difficulty in breathing, as though there had been no air in the cabin. He’d filled the whole space with his presence, and although he had busied himself at his computer, keeping in touch with everything that was going on in his business world, she had been unable to ignore him.

And now, even though a brick wall divided them, she could still feel him, still sense the hidden power he wielded over her. It troubled her deeply; he was most definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Very little sleep and an early morning call, as well as her uneasiness where Luciano was concerned, made Celena irritable, and when she met him at the breakfast table she barely smiled.

‘Are you not feeling well?’ he asked, looking fresh and vital in a white shirt and dark linen trousers, the inevitable aftershave faintly tormenting her, black hair still damp from his shower.

‘I have a headache.’ It was a lie but the best excuse she could come up with. She couldn’t very well say, I lay awake all night thinking about you. It confused even her.

He had been in her life for six weeks, they had made contact on only three occasions before coming out here, and yet he had completely taken over her mind. It was crazy. At least he had kept his word and made no advances—yet! She had been sure to lock her door last night

‘Are you prone to headaches?’ he asked sharply. ‘Do you suffer from migraine?’

Celena shook her head.

‘Then I guess it’s just the travelling and the change. Take a couple of aspirin; you’ll soon feel better.’

‘What are our plans for today?’ she asked. She felt uncomfortable about being introduced to his relatives. Would they believe the strictly business scenario? Or would they think she was his current girlfriend? Did he frequently take girls home?

She dismissed the thought immediately. He had told her that he had come from a very old Sicilian family, an aristocratic family no less, with old-fashioned views on girlfriends and marriage. He would hardly give the impression of being a philanderer.

‘This morning, business,’ he answered, his chin lifted in one of his unconscious arrogant gestures. ‘This afternoon we will visit my family.’ He watched her closely as he spoke, saw her sudden tension. ‘Do not worry, Celena; they will love you.’

She frowned. Love her! It was an odd expression. Why would they love a business associate? All along she had felt nervous about the whole thing—about the unexpected job offer, the unreal salary, and finally this trip to Sicily. Had she been right to worry? ‘Is there something you haven’t told me, Mr Segurini?’

‘Luciano, please,’ he said.

‘Why?’ Her grey eyes were as troubled as a stormtossed sea.

‘Why what?’ he asked with a sudden frown.

‘Why should I call you Luciano when you are the owner of the company that employs me? I think it would be wrong to be on first-name terms when I am the very newest member of your team, especially as this is a business trip.’

‘Both business and pleasure,’ he told her. ‘It is always a pleasure to be with my family.’

‘And always a pleasure to take a girl with you?’ she asked sharply.

‘No.’ He paused a moment, seeming to be deep in thought. ‘I have never taken a girl home.’

At least that answered one question. ‘You’ve never been serious about anyone?’

A muscle moved in his jaw. ‘Yes, I have been serious, but it didn’t work out I’d rather not discuss it. Have you finished? I want to make an early start.’

Celena realised that she had unwittingly hit a raw nerve, and although she was curious she knew it would be unwise to press the issue. Perhaps later, when she got to know him better, she might find out about this girl who had had such a profound effect on him. She was obviously the reason why he had never married.

Their appointment was with a well-known car-manufacturing company, and it was an exciting brief; Celena felt honoured that she had been asked to take part.

One other thing in her favour was that she spoke Italian—no doubt Luciano had known that as well when he’d invited her to take the job, she thought drily, and had been what he’d meant when he’d said she was doubly qualified—and even though the Sicilian dialect was different she was still able to understand, and the Sicilians themselves were impressed with her knowledge of their language. All in all she made a very big hit with them.

Afterwards they had lunch in a restaurant on the outskirts of Palermo and Luciano praised her warmly, but he did not linger; he was clearly anxious to see his family, and in particular his great-grandmother. He spoke of her constantly and it was very evident that there was a close bond between them.

He took the autostrada east along the coast, driving for about fifty miles before turning south through the centre of the island. The mountains were high and dramatic, river valleys cutting deeply into the landscape. The highway strode along the valley of the Hymera River, following the base of the Madonie Mountains, eventually arriving at the fortress town of Enna with its castle and its legend of Demeter and Persephone.

Finally Luciano stopped in front of an old palazzo on the outskirts of the town. Celena looked in wonder at the large, magnificent stone mansion with its arches and pillars and west wings and east wings and goodness knew what else. It had once, obviously, been very beautiful but now had a neglected air, as though no one bothered any more. Nevertheless she was extremely impressed. She had not envisaged anything as grand as this.

The grilled door swung slowly open as they approached, creaking on its hinges, and a young woman dressed in black smiled shyly at Luciano and curiously at Celena.

‘Buon giomo, Francesca,’ he said, and, still speaking in his native language, added, ‘My great-grandmother is expecting us?’

Francesca nodded, her smile widening, and she was obviously in complete awe of Luciano.

After introducing Celena he led her up an impressive, wide curving staircase. At the top was a stained-glass window through which the sun cast a myriad different colours. It was like walking into fairyland.

Along a red-carpeted corridor they went, through a door, and down another passage, all with ornate plaster-work and beautiful crystal chandeliers. A heavy wooden door faced them. Luciano knocked, and even he did not enter without permission.

‘Avanti!’

Celena had expected a quiet, quavering voice, not this strong, authoritative one. She glanced questioningly at Luciano but all he did was smile reassuringly as they entered the shaded room.

Great-grandmother Segurini was tiny, sitting upright on a red velvet chair, dressed all in black, with a square of black lace over her white hair. Dark eyes had sunk into their sockets many years ago yet they held an imperiousness that told that she was still the undisputed matriarch of the family. They brightened when she saw her great-grandson and he moved swiftly across the room to kiss her cheek and give her a bear-like hug.

‘You are here at last,’ she said in her native tongue. ‘I have waited so long for your visit, Luciano. And this is Celena? Come closer, child; let me look at you.’

Celena obediently edged forward, surprised that Luciano had already mentioned her.

‘Goodness, you are prettier than your photograph!’ exclaimed the woman.

Photograph! What was she talking about? Celena frowned at Luciano but he shook his head and made a tiny gesture with his hand for her to say nothing. She decided that any photograph must have been of his previous girlfriend and he wanted to save his great-grandmother embarrassment by keeping quiet She and the girlfriend were obviously very similar in appearance for his great-grandmother to have made this mistake.

Celena’s eyes had grown accustomed to the dimness now and she was able to see Giacoma Segurini more clearly. Thin, gnarled fingers were heavily adorned with diamonds and garnets, as were her throat and ears. She sat like a queen on her throne—and Celena had no doubt that this was how the family regarded her. But despite her upright bearing and her imperious air she looked pale and frail, as though her hold on life was very tenuous.

The old lady held out her hands and Celena took them and was given a kiss on each cheek. ‘Luciano has chosen well,’ she said, smiling happily. ‘Everyone is very anxious to meet you.’

‘But I’m not who you—’ Celena began, anxious to set the matter straight. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Luciano stiffen, but she did not care. It was wrong of him to deceive his great-grandmother. Why couldn’t he tell her the truth, for heaven’s sake? But the old woman totally ignored Celena’s attempt to speak.

‘He has told you, I expect, that he is my eldest and most favourite great-grandchild?’

‘Yes,’ she admitted huskily. ‘But I really must—’

‘He has disappointed me, however, by not getting married before now. Thirty-seven!’ She tutted as though scandalised. ‘My own husband was twenty-two when I married him; I was twenty. When he was Luciano’s age our eldest was already fourteen, and we had three other children besides. How old are you, Celena?’

Twenty-eight,’ she answered reluctantly. It was quite obvious that she was not going to be given the chance to speak.

Again the old woman tutted. ‘You people today, what is wrong with you? Where is all the love and romance gone? You work, work, work. You spend all your lives working instead of bringing up a family. I do not understand.’

‘Things have changed, Bisnonna,’ said Luciano.

The woman spread her hands expansively. ‘Maybe, but I do not like it. I do not approve. At least now you have come to your senses and you have chosen a beautiful girl. Leave us alone, Luciano; I would like to talk with her.’

‘Not now, Bisnonna,’ he said soothingly, much to Celena’s dismay. It would have been the ideal opportunity to tell this quite remarkable old lady exactly who she was. ‘We were up early; we’ve had a busy day; Celena needs to rest.’

‘Then later,’ announced the woman regally.

Once outside the room Celena turned furiously on Luciano. ‘What sort of game are you playing, letting your great-grandmother think that I am your girlfriend?’

‘It is just a little deception,’ he answered easily—too easily, Celena thought. ‘It will do no harm.’

‘I don’t agree,’ she retorted. ‘The woman is in her element. How is she going to feel when she discovers that I’m nothing more than an employee? She looks so frail and ill that the shock will probably kill her.’

‘Then perhaps we should say nothing.’

Celena’s heart gave a warning thud and she looked at him warily. ‘I trust you’re not serious.’

‘Perfectly,’ he announced.

She shook her head. ‘This is the most ridiculous thing I have ever heard. I will not be a part of it; I insist that you tell her, right now.’

‘I cannot do that, Celena.’ His brown eyes were steady on hers.